


Loud and Clear

by sabinelagrande



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Consent Play, Dubcon Telepathic Voyeurism, Dubious Consent, Everyone Dubcons Everyone Else, F/M, Masturbation, Pre-Canon, Sexual Fantasy, Telepathy, what is this I don't even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 19:04:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If only Raven weren't so very loud, this never would have happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loud and Clear

Charles is, on most days, quite good at staying out of Raven's thoughts. He's been practicing for a very long time; to make it easier, Raven has never been particularly secretive about her emotions. Most of the time, it doesn't take a telepath at all to know what she's thinking; what she wants, she usually demands. It makes everything very simple for Charles.

And then Raven discovers masturbation.

The first time, Charles snaps out of a dead sleep, sitting up in his bed. "Oh god," Raven is saying, "oh my god, oh my god-" and Charles scans the darkness of his room for her, expecting to see her at the foot of his bed.

"Raven?" he says, worried, but he sees nothing, hears no answer.

He's just about to throw off the bedsheets when he gets it; he's hearing her thoughts, and she is _so loud_ that he can hear her clearly from down the hall.

The words that are floating on the surface are nothing, nothing at all compared to the feelings under them, the rush of sensation; he can feel it all, mind and body, the way the blinding want makes her move, one hand roaming over her breasts, her neck, the other between her legs, fingers working harder, faster. She pulls them away, switching hands, then she's trailing her damp fingers up her body and, good god, slipping them into her mouth, sucking them, tasting herself for the first time. Charles's mouth is full of it, and he hates, absolutely hates himself for the way it makes him salivate.

Charles is clutching at the sheets, trying desperately not to listen in; he's running through every trick in the book, listing English monarchs, American presidents, the periodic table. It's not doing a damn thing, not when she's pushing her fingers inside herself, fitting her hand just so, so that her thumb rubs against her clitoris as she moves it. Charles can hear the tiny, shocked gasp she lets out when she does it; he can even feel it when she bites her lip, trying to keep the noises she wants to make inside. There's a disorienting flash when he sees himself, scandalized by hearing her, angry with her. He wants to tell her that he is, he _really, really_ is, but that will break everything into pieces; it will ruin absolutely everything for both of them.

She's biting her knuckle now, and the little bit of pain it causes is making it better; Charles lets that slip by, because it- it's too much right now. Her hand is moving faster, harder, pressed so tight against her body, her hips working up to meet it. He's trying to keep it out, trying to keep it out it's not _working_ she's still going it's building building building always more always it's right-

Charles's whole body convulses when she comes, so hard that it actually hurts. His head falls back against his pillow, and he feels completely exhausted, even though _he_ hasn't done anything.

Raven fades out; she's cleaning up, and her mind is full of the _enormity_ of what she's just done, what it represents. It starts to be an effort to follow her, and Charles is gone as quick as he can.

He is, of course, uncomfortably hard, but he doesn't dare touch himself. It's his- it's her- he doesn't know exactly who is to blame, here, but it's not _right_ for him to take advantage of the situation like that.

It is very hard to sleep.

It is much harder to have breakfast with her in the morning.

\--

She does it a lot- a _whole_ lot- there in the beginning, for which Charles can't blame her, not the least little bit; he does, however, wish she'd get over herself and start doing it earlier in the night, because he'd really like to get some sleep.

He also kind of wishes she'd do it elsewhere.

Toronto is nice this time of year.

In a backwards kind of way, the more it happens, the better it is for him; it's practice, all of it. If she's to do it with any regularity- and all signs point to the both of them living in this house a good while longer, and _obviously_ she's not going to stop now that she's started- then he has to learn how to block it out, stop intruding on her most private moments.

For the love of _god_ , he has to learn how to block it before she starts bringing boys home.

That being said, the opportunities it afford him _in no way_ make up for what he goes through every night. She's beginning to progress, moving on; the first times are about nothing but herself, the wonder of her body, the rush of _power_ that comes with it, the senseless, directionless pleasure. They're so much easier to deal with than what comes next, because then she starts fantasizing.

She likes them fit and brown-headed, not many similarities after that, which is a surprisingly unremarkable choice for her. A lot of them float in and out- one one night, another the next, sometimes back and forth in a single session. Very occasionally, it's more than one- at a _time_ \- which is way, way information than he needed.

That works for her, for a little bit, but then, something starts to go wrong.

Other than the fact that he's been listening to his adopted sister getting off.

The images in her head are switching faster; she's focusing on them harder and it's not doing it for her. There's something, something that's too deep for Charles to reach, something she's not broadcasting, some piece that's missing. It stops her entirely once or twice, twisting her up to the point where she gives up in frustration.

And then there's that night, the night where everything goes haywire. Raven is doing it again, but she's not _enjoying_ it very much, and it kind of grates on Charles. He wishes she would just give it up; she's been thinking of the gardener lately, and it makes him want to go down the hall and ask her what the _fuck_ she is thinking, choosing him.

Something moves around in her brain, something stretches out, something gives way; and then very suddenly, Charles's brain is lit up with the image of _himself_.

Charles freezes; every sector of his brain is screaming _she knows she knows she knows abort abort abort_ , and he is waiting for it, dreading it, the way her mind will turn towards his, the knock that will come at his door.

But then Raven _relaxes_ ; what's twisting her up inside comes unfurled. He can feel how much she knows it's wrong, but he also feels how much of a relief it is, how good it feels just to let herself have it, stop torturing herself with it.

Suddenly all he can think of is that night, that very first night, the way it was when he first saw her; she was a revelation, a comfort and a goddess at the same time.

It doesn't feel wrong to him at all.

 _Now_ it's going right; she sighs, moving against her hand, thumbing a nipple. The image of him in her mind is surprisingly chaste, nothing that would be damning if it weren't in this context. His hair in the sunlight, a bead of sweat rolling down his neck, the curve of his lips, a secretive smile.

It's what she wants to _do_ in regards to all those things that makes it absolutely pornographic.

It doesn't take her long to come; it's so easy, this time, washing over her, moving all the way through her body.

As soon as it's gone, he reaches down and grabs his cock, working himself as fast as he can; she fucking _owes_ him that.

\--

The image of him solidifies in her mind, the further it goes. It's hazy at the beginning, indistinct, a collection of parts. His hands are the first thing that she formulates; they're actually very good, as far as he can tell, enough that it's disorienting at first. He wants to feel through them, wants to see what her skin is like underneath them, but that's not what she's thinking about, of course; he can only get the feedback from the other side.

The mouth she makes for him is, if he may say so himself, stunning, and it makes him want so, so much more- he just has to see if he could possibly be that good, because he never could back down from a challenge. It's fast after that, chest and arms and legs and ass; he doesn't seem to have any genitalia, because she's never looking at it, only ever feeling it, and if that's what she thinks it feels like, she has been rather generous in her estimation of his physique.

She's got a good working model, and that's when it starts to get to him; that's when it becomes almost irresistible to reach into her brain, because if she's going to fantasize about him, she's going to fantasize about _him_. He's not going to let her give it up for the next best thing just because it's _convenient_.

Still, she and the Charles who lives in her head, they can do really, really great things together. Charles has given up any pretense of not wanting to watch, not stroking himself while he does it; hell, at this point he's taking pointers. Raven likes it best when he throws her down on the bed, pushing her legs apart; he's not gentle about it, ripping her clothes off, making her _take_ it.

One night, after she and Charles have spent a long day together, doing completely innocuous things in close proximity, it's particularly hot. He's holding her down; he's gripping both her wrists in one hand over her head, painful and threatening in just the right way. She's saying no, that she doesn't want it like this, but all of them- her, Charles, and not Charles- know that she really, really does. He laughs, slaps her across the face; her eyes are just starting to tear up-

And suddenly everything absolutely crashes on Charles- what has he _done_ , why didn't he _stop_ it, why does she _like_ it, why does he _want_ to- and he suddenly shoves _everything_ away from himself, as far as he can make it go, as hard as he can.

He does it too hard and in the wrong way; when everything snaps back together, he can feel Raven's confusion. Her fantasy is gone, replaced with concern. «Charles?» she says, worried; she doesn't feel any trace of remorse, no sense of shame, not the way he expected, not after she'd been doing _that_.

«I'm fine,» Charles sends back. «A nightmare.»

Raven is suspicious- not that he knows anything, but that he's not admitting that something's wrong. «I'm here if you need me.»

He tries to make it seem like he feels better. «Go to sleep. I'll be fine.»

He can feel her mental eye-roll, but she fades away from him; the mood is broken, apparently.

Charles spends the next two nights away from the house, making up excuses to stay over with friends, far enough away that he can't sense Raven at all. It is a complete relief and a total frustration; he still thinks about it, what she must be doing, but it's great not to have to hear it for once, not when he's feeling so guilty about it.

But he goes home, and it's just the same as ever, and a week passes and it's just the same as ever, and then all at once it's not the same, and that's when everything _really_ goes south.

It seems that Raven is, of all the ungrateful things, getting bored with her toy. It's good, it's great, but now there are things coming out on top of it. It's not stopping her, not at all, but there are things bubbling to the surface, thoughts like _Charles, please, please, I need_ and _can't you just_ and _god, I wish you would_. It's this really bizarre mishmash in his head; she's thinking of him when she's with him, only not really, and all that matters is that she's not getting what she wants.

This is the point, and Charles can pinpoint it exactly, where it stops being a matter of if and starts being a matter of _when_.

It takes him a while to get up the courage; the whole time, he's hearing her calling out for him, hearing her want him, and it's making it so much easier to go. He waits for the right moment, though; it's night, of course, and Raven is just starting to get into it, just starting to imagine, the heat just starting to rise.

And he gets out of bed, and he walks the hell down there.

Raven is startled when he knocks; she thinks about not answering, but she walks over anyway, flipping over back to blond, opening the door for him. "Charles?"

"I'm coming in," Charles says, his voice in no way indicating that it is a request.

"Charles, what are you-" and before she can get huffy or annoyed, he backs her up against the wall, his hands flat on either side of her head, caging her in.

"I know what you want," Charles says, out loud, at the same time that his mind is saying «god Raven, I do, I really, really do, I know exactly how you want it-»

"I don't know what you mean," Raven says, her eyes wide and scared. «How could you possibly,» she responds. «I've never told- you're not supposed to- you said you wouldn't-»

"Yes, you do." «Can't help it, Raven, can't keep it out for anything, I know how bad you want it, _I_ want it, _let_ me-»

"Let me go," she says, trying to duck under his arm, at the same time she fires back with «yes yes now _please_ do it for me don't let me get away» and Charles catches her easily before she can move.

"No," Charles says, smiling, and he leans forward and kisses her, just like he's been wanting to for so long, just like she's been wanting. It's nice and rough, and she trembles when he does it, like she's actually scared of him; he's shaking too, but that's the adrenaline talking.

She struggles in his arms, but it only makes him hold her tighter. His hands aren't gentle, pawing at her instead; he's squeezing her breast and it feels like he's doing it too hard but she's moaning about it, shaking her head no while she's pushing into his hand.

"Don't make me do this," she says, trying to get away from him. "Charles, just let me go, I won't tell if you just let me go-"

He hits her in the face to shut her up; t's barely a tap, enough to make a noise but not enough to hurt at all, because, no matter what's happened in her head, he doesn't know how much either of them could take. "Quiet," he warns her; he suddenly reaches down and grabs her ass, pulling her in tight against him, grinding against her. "Do you want the whole house to hear?" She blushes furiously at that. "This doesn't have to be hard," Charles says, his voice soothing. "It'll be fine if you just give me what I want."

"What if I don't?" she challenges.

He kisses her again, rougher this time. "Then it will be very, very hard."

She shivers visibly; she's starting to look really worried, teary-eyed, and that's when Charles pops into her head, checking around. «Raven, are you-»

«Dammit, Charles,» she says, «why are you _thinking_ when it's getting _good_ , why are you always _thinking_ -»

Before he throws the mood completely off, he pushes her sharply away from him, throwing her off guard. "Get on the bed," he says, looking darkly at her.

"I'm not going to," she fires back, backing away carefully, looking for an escape route; what she hasn't twigged to yet is that he's pushed her _towards_ the bed, and when she inevitably backs into it and falls, he's right there on top of her.

It takes a little doing and another slap, but he gets her wrists over her head, holding them with one hand, just like she'd imagined, his fingers digging into her skin. The nightgown she's wearing is just perfect, exactly the right thing for what they want; it's nothing to push it up, all the way up over her chest, so that he can get his hand on her breast, play with her nipple. She's thrashing her head back and forth, arching up off the bed, and he wants this so badly, so very, very badly; he doesn't know how he could have ever thought that this could be wrong, not when they need it so much, when they want each other like this.

She's wearing soft cotton panties, and he tugs them down her legs and off, tossing them away; she's absolutely gorgeous, just like he knew she would be, and she's so wet, so wet for _him_. His fingers slide slickly over her, and when he presses in, where she's so tight around him, she moans, low, bucking her hips up.

That's it, one more second and he's going to ruin his pants; he pushes them down, best as he can with one hand, and climbs on top of her, pushing her legs open.

«Charles,» she thinks desperately, the first moment of real fear, «we _can't_ , we can't possibly-»

«Oh god no,» he replies, a little shocked that she would even think that, «are you _mental_ , I just want to, just let me-» and he presses in against her, grinding down, the underside of his dick rubbing against her clitoris. Raven's mind relaxes as her body tenses; she pushes up, her hips working for more friction.

He leans down, close enough to kiss but not quite doing it. "Not going to let you get away," he says, his hand tightening on her wrists, "never going to get away, because you're _mine_."

"Charles," she says, and there are tears on her lashes now. "I want- please- say it again-"

"All mine," he promises, kissing her, and she gasps into his mouth and shakes all over; that's his cue, or maybe it's just all he can take, but he comes in a hot rush, all over her stomach.

He lets her go and makes to move, to give her some air, but she won't let him, not for a long while, just sighs underneath him. He doesn't pull himself away from her until he has to, until his arms are starting to get sore from the way he's braced above her.

"We need to talk," Raven says, looking at him.

"About quite a lot, actually," Charles replies. "I tried, Raven. I wouldn't have- I'd never look into your mind without your permission, but it was so _loud_ that there was just no way."

She grimaces. "I could kind of tell. I couldn't do anything about it, but-" She smirks. "I do know when I'm yelling, Charles. I just thought you could handle it."

"Not so well, I'm afraid," he admits. "I tried to be as quiet as I could."

"You were," she tells him. "I didn't know you were there at all. Until I-" They both know what she's talking about. "And then _you_ got loud."

Charles's eyes widen in shock. "I had no idea."

She gives him a searching look. "Why do you think I didn't feel guilty about it, Charles?" She sighs. "But I thought it was going to be enough to have it only in my head."

"It isn't," he says, and the choice of tense is conspicuous. His brow furrows. "I'm not sure how to ask this." She raises an eyebrow at him. "The- the slapping and throwing you around-" He doesn't know how that sentence ends.

She shrugs, looking unconcerned. "I just like it. I figured I had enough to worry about without having to decide if it was okay on top of it."

"Fair enough," Charles says, and it's a relief not to have to talk that one out.

She rolls towards him, laying her head on his chest. "That was pretty amazing," she says, and her voice is getting sleepy.

He kisses the top of her head. "Think of how much better it'll be next time."


End file.
